


Rattling the Chains

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Gender/Sexuality, Angst, Bottom Damar, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, NB Damar and Weyoun, Other, Porn with Feelings, Top Weyoun, Topping from the Bottom, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Damar dreams of breaking a Cardassian sexual taboo with Weyoun.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	Rattling the Chains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthpumpkinspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/gifts).



> Huge thanks to Len and Ellie from the Dayoun server for editing this fic!
> 
> This is a direct sequel to [“♥ When Beleaguered Bureaucrat Meets Disposable Diplomat ♥.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557383)
> 
> Although in this fic Damar and Weyoun only have the opportunity to discuss gender in their societies in general terms and their desires for less strictness regarding the subject, I think there is enough here to suggest that they are both non-binary, which is what I intended to convey. I see Damar as genderqueer, but I don't think the modern militaristic culture of Cardassia promotes any idea but the concept of there being only two genders, so for now he only knows he feels he wants to be more gender-nonconforming. Weyoun describes the Vorta’s view of gender within the fic, but I also headcanon that one day he’ll notice how much he enjoys the way Cardassians like Damar see him as having strong feminine and masculine traits (but not falling in the middle of the two extremes) and come out as bigender.

It had taken about as long as Damar expected for Weyoun to recognize their friendship for what it was, Damar mused as they lay beside each other. From the outset it had been obvious that Weyoun had no experience with friendships. Every time Damar had asked him to join him for a meal or a game, Weyoun had paused, his happy mask slipping and revealing a haunted, calculating stare before being replaced by a smiling façade twice as enthusiastic. There was a lot Damar did not understand about the inner workings of the Dominion, but he suspected Weyoun’s unfamiliarity with bonds outside the shackles of slavery, or removed from the smooth professionalism of his duty, ran deeper than the Vorta’s universally-hated roles of diplomat and collaborator. 

However, now that Weyoun had finally begun to figure out how to interact with him like he was more than some objective, Damar could gaze into the future and see the path of their relationship laid out before him. For a while longer, maybe even for a year, they would continue to have sex and experiment in the bedroom, and then the passion would cool and they would become friends, best friends, all the closer for having intimate knowledge of each other’s bodies. Part of Damar was excited for this eventual transformation, while another worried that when that time eventually came he would no longer be able to hold Weyoun’s wonderfully warm body against his scales. If cuddling him would become inappropriate, he would have to find another endotherm. Damar had been so spoiled. 

In his half-asleep, half-awake state, he grimaced and turned over, wanting to reach out and dig his claws into Weyoun’s poofy hair to distract himself. But his eyes flew open at the sensation of something holding him back. Around his wrists and ankles was wrapped silky fabric, now pulled taut. He tried but his claws could not tear it, and though the material held him firm, it remained soft. These realizations were followed by the awareness that the room felt pleasantly warm, meaning it would be scalding to Weyoun. Before he could worry further, he spotted Weyoun’s nude, ghostly body standing at the foot of the bed. The room was darker than black kanar, but his big eyes and pale skin were easily visible in spite of the deep shadows. How could Weyoun even see in such low light?

“Did you tie me to the bed in my sleep?” Damar asked. “What are these even attached to?” He pulled halfheartedly at the restraints again, and found he could not even see where they led. Damar’s bed had no headboard, unlike Weyoun’s, so the logistics seemed off. In fact, Weyoun seemed off as well. The smile on his face looked like any other, but as Damar gazed into his eyes and looked him up and down, he felt his ridges tightening as they used to whenever he caught a glimpse of Weyoun after their first meeting as arranged by the Founder, but before they had befriended each other. Back when he had imagined him to be like her personal Betazoid interrogator—in retrospect, he had not been wrong, but Weyoun no longer regarded _him_ as a target. 

“You’re dreaming, Damar,” Weyoun said. He tilted his head in the way Damar usually found endearing, but this time it made him feel an eerie pressure in his chest. 

“Am I? That would explain a lot.” He shifted, trying to get comfortable. While Damar tended not to be interested in bondage and his sexual dreams involving it tended to be disturbing, surely a sexual dream of _Weyoun_ would be equally pleasant as the reality. Whenever he dreamed of Weyoun it tended to be a rare good dream of watching the Vorta shoot Dukat out of an airlock. Damar’s hopes were high. 

Weyoun crept closer, climbing onto the bed in one smooth motion and taking his time moving up Damar’s spread legs. “I’ll give you exactly what you want,” Weyoun said. Damar tried not to think about how that sounded like a threat. 

Nevertheless, it started wonderfully. Weyoun’s fingers lightly brushed his thighs before applying sudden pressure to just the right spot to make Damar arch back and spread his legs, presenting himself further. Weyoun then brought his face down and blew warm, humid breath over the little scales over his vent and then traced patterns across them. Damar let out a low rumble, the sort that had always encouraged Weyoun. When Weyoun slid his hands over to part Damar’s legs even more and replaced his precise fingers with firm licks of his tongue, Damar moaned, “ _Yes_ ,” under his breath and everted. 

Every spicule burned for Weyoun’s touch, but Weyoun merely glanced up briefly. His gaze and Damar’s intersected before Weyoun lowered his head once again, completely ignoring Damar’s hemipenis, even though its textures normally excited him. Instead, Damar froze as he felt Weyoun bring one hand over to spread Damar’s vent. Any and all protest died in the back of his throat as the heat of Weyoun’s fingertips suffused into his groin. He expected some snide comment from Weyoun about how blue Damar was blushing but none came—only fingers delving deeper, scissoring inside him as his toes curled. But when Weyoun’s fingers curled as well, Damar forced himself to snap, “Stop! You can’t do this!” 

Weyoun drew his fingers out slowly, and Damar hated that he still felt the ghosts of their touch inside him. “You’re right. After all, Weyoun can’t do anything here, Damar. This is your dream.” 

Damar took the chance to catch his breath. He felt blood rushing to his head and his groin simultaneously, and he could not come up with any protest. Instead of responding with words, he thrashed against his restraints and dug his claws into them as best he could with such little leverage, but all he managed to do was give this persona of Weyoun more direct access to his vent. While Damar was distracted by his roiling thoughts, Weyoun plunged his tongue inside him, laving his inner walls, and Damar’s desperate shouts for him to stop—that this was wrong—were just met with increased force. As Damar’s demands devolved into pleasured hisses and moans he wanted to hide his face in shame. Then, he felt it, a fluttering deep inside himself like a heat shimmer, building into a bright peak—but then Weyoun’s tongue slipped out of him and the feeling subsided. 

“What are you doing?” Damar groaned, voice hoarse. To his horror, he was dripping pre-cum, and even worse, he could see through his squinting eyes that Weyoun’s cock was hard and he was stroking himself. But the most horrifying thing of all were the fantasies of how Weyoun’s balls slapping against his vent might feel bursting to life inside his mind. 

“Like I said, giving you what you want.” This was followed by an obsequious look, which put Damar more at ease. For a moment it had almost felt real. “Just relax.” 

Weyoun was soon atop him, and Damar strained against the restraints, wanting to kiss him, but they remained too far apart. He gasped as he felt the head of Weyoun’s cock—warmer than his fingers had been—sink into his still-moist vent. Craving motion, Damar tried to buck underneath him, but Weyoun remained excruciatingly still.

“Please, Damar, tell me what you desire,” Weyoun asked, as if he did not already know. “I live only to—”

“No! Don’t say that to me, not here!” Damar cut him off. There were things Cardassians like Damar were not supposed to desire. Repressed memories about thought crimes, of innocents forcibly re-educated, flashed like lightning in the black void of the room. Damar blinked back tears. “And I-I can’t tell you.”

Weyoun said nothing more, and responded by stroking Damar’s oiled hair. For a moment, he seemed like the Weyoun Damar both knew and did not know at all. Weyoun thrusted, sinking just a bit deeper into Damar, only to almost immediately pull back, repeating the motion until warm tingling flushed through his vent.

The taste of friction was not enough. Again, Damar thought of being completely filled, and he caved. His neck ridges burned, and he knew he must have been blazing blue. “I want you to fuck me,” he said, then hissed in fear, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“With what? And how?” Weyoun’s voice sounded so gentle, even as he tormented him. 

“Fuck me, Weyoun! I want your cock deep inside me, I want your stupid exposed balls against me, I want—I want…” 

* * *

Damar wrenched himself to the side. His own fingers were pressed into his vent, and were now crushed under the weight of his body. Swallowing hard, he drew them out and shuddered. The room felt sickly cold and he could detect only the faint scent of Weyoun’s sweat—had those “good ears” of his heard Damar’s pleas? Had Weyoun recently fled, preparing to coldly mock him later? But as Damar dragged himself across the mattress, he noticed there was no warm impression of Weyoun’s body on the mattress. The Vorta had to have left hours ago. On top of the dresser there was a PADD lying next to a tall glass of water. On the screen of the PADD was a message from Weyoun, explaining that he had been called to an urgent meeting, that the water would “replenish the liquids” Damar had “lost the night before,” and that Weyoun had “added crushed rippleberries to every kanar bottle,” knowing Damar hated the taste. Damar threw the PADD down behind him. Normally, a cheeky note like that would have flustered him, but in the dream’s wake he was too agitated to even absorb the words. He hung his head, thick strands of hair falling over his face, and let out a stuttering hiss. He slunk off to shower.

* * *

Damar spent the next day as Dukat’s shadow, deflecting his prying comments about the smell clinging to Damar’s scales with well-timed reminders about overdue paperwork. Eventually the moment Damar had been dreading arrived, and when Weyoun was finished with his meetings, Damar tried to channel the same energy he had been channeling for decades—that of a wallflower lizard lurking under a rock as it sheds. 

As Damar revised an infrastructure proposal, Weyoun came over to hover beside him. “Tell me, Damar, what was it you thought of the message I left for you this morning?” Weyoun asked. He grinned expectantly. 

“It was nice of you.” Damar made himself give Weyoun a perfunctory nod before returning to his work. 

“Yes. It was, wasn’t it.” Weyoun continued to stand there, as if he were a specter haunting the console. 

Ignoring the squirming, quivering feeling slowly overtaking his insides, Damar looked back up at him once more. “So. What called you away last night?” He rationalized away asking this question as a way to return to unremarkable banter. 

It failed. Weyoun cocked his head to the side as his eyes went wide. “The note I left for you explained I had been called to a subspace meeting with the Detapa Council. You did read it, didn’t you?” 

Damar nodded, even as he felt mounting fear over the realization he must not have absorbed the words. After his morning shower he had not been able to bear witnessing Weyoun’s brand of affection by reading it over. 

Weyoun placed his hands on the back of Damar’s chair, and Damar hoped those ears were not sharp enough to hear his heart racing. Weyoun continued, “And you saw that I left you the glass of water so you could replenish the liquids you lost that night.”

“I—fluids… you mean, because of my alcohol problem?” He punctuated his question with a strangled chuckle. 

“For that and also for another reason. Didn’t you read the part about how I put rippleberry juice in your kanar bottles because I know you hate the taste?” Weyoun straightened out his neck again and glared down at him. “What has gotten _into_ you, Damar?”

Damar seized up at Weyoun’s unintentionally accurate phrasing and had to mentally delete and then rephrase an entire prepared paragraph. “What other reason?” But before Weyoun could reply, Damar dug his claws into his thighs and made himself add, “You know what? I get it now. That’s very amusing, Weyoun. Thank you.” It was surreal to use this stilted tone with Weyoun, particularly when, despite being a supervisor, the Vorta preferred not to use titles. 

“Oh. How nice.” Weyoun took one last opportunity to gaze down at Damar’s screen, even though he probably could not see the content. His smile highlighted his wrinkles and the sight of it was too much for Damar, but before Weyoun could smoothly compliment or attempt to tease him again, the door to the office opened and a glinn brought in new orders. 

Damar managed to evade Weyoun for the rest of the day, a task that was usually impossible. That evening, Damar staggered back to his quarters and guzzled tainted kanar directly from the bottle. Even though the rippleberry flavor singed his tongue and made him gag, Damar had been well-trained in preventing himself from vomiting ever since childhood. When he collapsed in bed he curled in on himself and focused on the nausea, trying to ignore his longing for Weyoun’s fluffy bun and warm, soft skin. After all, it was good practice for the inevitability of losing them.

* * *

The week passed without incident, which in and of itself was alarming. Damar’s interactions with Weyoun remained brief and, on the surface, pleasant, and despite the absence of intimacy there was some consolation in that. But the reality of how little their duties actually intersected outside of meetings poisoned by the presence of the Founder or Dukat fell upon him like freezing rain. Like clockwork, Damar counted down the days to when he would recite the statement he had prepared and claim he had been going through a spell of depression—a half-truth even Weyoun would believe—and the two of them would return to sleeping together once again, this trial separation over. 

The plan would not be brought to fruition. Whenever Damar caught a glimpse of Weyoun in the Founder’s wake, the Vorta looked like _he_ was the one about to vomit, and when he heard a snatch of Weyoun’s voice as he gave the Jem’Hadar their orders, it sounded like the blow of a blunted, heavy weapon. 

It all came to a head in one of the council chambers. Weyoun, Dukat, and himself were expected to devise a strategy for expelling the Federation from Bajoran space. Dukat hijacked the discussion to demand that all Federation personnel be extradited, and Damar found himself explaining to Dukat that none of the Federation’s staff were war criminals and that it would be far more trouble than it was worth, that it would be a diplomatic nightmare as that non-com officer’s tribunal had proven already—boldness Damar never had the gall to tap into before he had listened to Weyoun skillfully and repeatedly putting Dukat in his place. And, despite Damar’s stress, contrasting Dukat’s egotism with Weyoun’s careful plan for the assimilation of Bajor and its colonies into the Dominion made Damar relive the first blushes of attraction all over again. When the meeting came to a close, Damar’s head bowed as he prepared to trail Dukat and exit. 

“Damar, you’re staying here!” Weyoun snapped, his voice echoing. 

Damar froze. Dukat whirled around in shock, before flashing Damar a sly smile and leaving the two of them alone together. 

Weyoun’s lips were twisted into a scowl, his brows furrowed, causing wrinkles to appear right where his spoon would be, were he Cardassian. “Why is it, Damar,” he began, voice low, “that I had to be taken aside and chastised by the Founder for ruining the progress I’ve made with you? What caused your confidence to dwindle right as it seemed you were growing to fill your new role?!” Damar’s pit organs felt the vestiges of Weyoun’s body heat, and he imagined they were the waves of his fury, battering him. 

Yet despite the aura of danger, Damar was at ease. Weyoun seemed nothing like that persona from his wet dream, whose desire to please Damar no matter what had been far more frightening. “The Founder punished you because I had a few off days?” Damar asked, trying to find the missing puzzle piece that would reveal the reason behind his sense of security. 

Weyoun drew closer. “Did you really think that simply because you requested I treat you as a close friend and not as a mission, my god-given orders no longer stood? I thought you were more pragmatic than this, but I see I was wrong to expect better of you! Of course you’d request _my_ friendship but not bother to extend the same privilege or consideration to _me_.” 

And that was when Damar understood. By removing his mask and setting his fury free, Weyoun was revealing the compatriot of his anger as well—fear. Fear of the Founder and her abuse, fear of failing in his duty, fear that he had lost his only friend. What had Damar been thinking? It may have been understandable to have flashbacks to watching “degenerates” being picked off to be enslaved and re-educated, their careers in tatters, but Weyoun’s entire existence was already its own labor camp and had been for longer than Damar could know. And Damar had unceremoniously stripped the only genuine intimacy from Weyoun’s life. Damar felt like he had been presented with the courtship challenge of his life and failed.

Before his cowardice could do any more damage, Damar gently touched Weyoun’s left arm, making sure he could feel the pressure though the cloth. “I’m sorry,” Damar said, “I was struggling with something and I didn’t think about the consequences for you. I will make a point to mention to the Founder how pleased I’ve been with your work to ease my transition.” 

Weyoun’s expression changed in an instant, like sand art being swept away. “You should… or else you will have truly jeopardized this alliance,” he said, with no malice in his voice. “Tell me, what is it that’s been weighing on you? I’ve been… worried.” Although his sad look appeared as false as ever, Weyoun’s previous honesty made it clear to Damar that he meant it.

“I know,” Damar said, voice hoarse. 

Weyoun tilted his head to the side, eyes wide, mirroring the expression he wore when he looked at artwork. If the distant rejection of Damar’s own artistic interests in his younger days on Prime had not been such a blow, it would be amusing. “I remember you’ve experienced familial grief—common, for a typical Cardassian like yourself.” Interesting, how Weyoun always made that old insult sound like a compliment. Did Weyoun want a domestic life for himself? “Have you been thinking of your ex-wife and son?” Weyoun asked. 

“No… it isn’t that.” In fact, this newfound pain was much sharper. He felt on the edge of some epiphany, regarding his mental categories of “Weyoun” and “family.”  
  
“Then?” Weyoun paused, allowing Damar to see his wrinkles forming as he thought things over. “The last time you seemed yourself was… I didn’t hurt you during our mating ri—I mean, during sex, did I? I thought I’d held your hemipenis quite gently!” he exclaimed. “If I wasn’t stroking it correctly you should have told me, Damar!” 

Damar could not help but chuckle at that. He released Weyoun’s arm just to give it a pat instead. “No, no, that was really good!” 

Weyoun gave him _that_ look, the half-puzzled, half-disgusted look he always utilized to imply Damar had said something particularly stupid while disguising how endearing Weyoun found him. “I may be a line of clones, but I don’t have infinite amounts of time to waste on you,” Weyoun said. 

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed based on how much you missed me this week.”

Weyoun huffed. “I only missed digging through your dresser. And don’t suggest I could do so even outside our agreement—while technically true it wouldn’t have been particularly diplomatic of me.” 

Damar made a low, contemplative sound he hoped was as pleasant to Weyoun as Weyoun’s soothing voice was to him. “Well, what I missed was this color.” He smirked and pushed Weyoun forward, making him stumble into the Central Command chestplate. 

Weyoun shoved it away, but did not drift so far that Damar could not enjoy his body heat. “What color?” 

“This one.” Damar used a single claw to poke one of Weyoun’s bright pink cheeks. 

The color bloomed even more magenta in response. Weyoun turned away, directing a glare out one of the nearby portholes. Since he had mentioned several times that he could usually make out nothing but empty space out there, Damar knew the move was for show. “You are to tell me what upset you before I have to resort to a mental probe,” Weyoun said. 

Damar felt himself go blue at the word “probe” but shook off the nerves, reached out to cup Weyoun’s squishy face, and made him meet his gaze. “I’ll tell you, but not here.” 

“Then where?” Weyoun pressed his skin into the texture of Damar’s palm. 

“In… in the privacy of my quarters.” 

Out in the hall, as they traversed pathways far less meandering than Cardassian architecture—something Damar always could appreciate about the Dominion was its efficiency—Damar continued to bask in Weyoun’s heat, but noticed it was a full and steady warmth, neither like a heat shimmer nor a flickering flame, but rather like a red-hot rock. And as they chatted, they caught up with each other on the contenders for Dukat’s worst statement of the week, the accuracy of the Founder’s comparisons between various politicians and viruses, and Weyoun’s shockingly impeccable Breen vocal modulations, Damar felt his lingering fears melting away like wax in the sunlight of Prime. 

As Damar continued circling circling the meaning of this easing of tension, they reached his quarters. Weyoun cut in front of him as soon as the door opened. “Have you heard,” Weyoun said, “there’s a new drink made from hydrogen and oxygen atoms connected by covalent bonds? I’ve heard very high praise for it.”

At this stupid joke, Damar noticed that the ever-present weight of a kanar glass or bottle was not in his hand. He must have forgotten when Weyoun shouted at him after the meeting. “You planned to make me forget, you bastard.” 

“Oh, your voice still sounds much rougher than usual. I’ll get it for you.” The little crinkles around Weyoun’s eyes appeared as he grinned. While Weyoun’s fingers played over the buttons of the replicator, the water scintillated into existence with a sparkle that lit up Weyoun’s already gemstone-like irises. He turned back to face Damar, and even though it was surely impossible for Weyoun to see the signs of adoration, Weyoun tilted his head to the side and continued to smile freely. 

Damar was about to burst with the words he knew then to be true, but he understood Weyoun was not yet ready for them. “Thanks, Clone Ranger,” Damar said instead.

They sat down on the bed, and Weyoun rubbed the mattress and placed his ear against it, feeling the textures as he listened to the soundscape of the ship. Once, in the afterglow of sex, Weyoun had explained that Damar’s mattress carried sound differently than Weyoun’s did. Weyoun waited patiently, despite Damar’s earlier conduct, and did not rush him to explain himself.

The water eased Damar’s throat as he drank it and his tongue felt lighter, less sticky. He had not even noticed how heavy it had felt before. “Tastes much better than rippleberries. I should try more of this.” He doubted he could hold to this resolution, but being better hydrated would help him shed, and he longed to experience Weyoun’s assisting him with his sheds. “Weyoun, I was withdrawing because of an unsettling dream I had the night after we last had sex.” He put the glass down on his dresser.

“How uncharacteristic of you.” Weyoun shifted so his ears faced Damar. “Both your people and you as an individual have vivid dreams and hallucinations often, and if you’ve never let your nightmares of Dukat and your ex engaged in mating rituals affect your work, this must have been particularly disturbing. Perhaps I’ll make note of it in your psychographic profile.”

“Sounds fair. Since I behaved like a child, you should get your turn.” 

Weyoun was obviously readying a retort, but when Damar began recounting the dream, he stayed silent. Damar described having been tied down and the dread he had felt despite how excited their real-world sexual arrangement made him. How his fear subsided for a moment at Weyoun’s warm fingers in his vent, only to return as even more devastating aftershocks. Through it all, Weyoun’s expression was utterly blank, yet it lacked the eeriness of his persona’s vacant stare. Even when Damar grew flustered and asked that Weyoun look away while he described begging and desiring to feel his balls against him, Weyoun did so without question. Maybe the collective experience of all Weyoun’s many lifetimes eclipsed any strangeness here. 

“…And that’s why,” Damar concluded. 

“Wait,” Weyoun immediately turned his head back, his eyes wide. “Were you flustered the next morning, when I told you I wanted you to replace the fluids you’d lost… because you initially believed I was suggesting you’d ejaculated more than usual due to this dream of yours?!” He threw his head back and chortled. 

Damar felt himself smile. “Has anyone ever told you the creases that run from your nose to your mouth are shaped like your ears?”

The chortling quieted down at that. As usual, Weyoun was unnerved by the faintest suggestion that he was special and the implication that being replaceable was no mark of pride. The question was, how could Damar simultaneously prove to Weyoun that he was both his favorite person and a person in the first place? Damar would have to draw up a private flowchart and explore those quandaries later. 

Unsurprisingly, Weyoun valiantly attempted to cover his tenderness with incessant prattling. “What was it that unsettled you, was it the breaking of the provincial taboo? The fact that this version of me didn’t stop when you told him to? I can assure you it doesn’t reflect on my behavior in reality, Damar. But then, you said you knew it was a dream, and for all your faults you don’t tend to confuse reality with fiction like many of your countrymen,” he said. “Perhaps you’re concerned that were I to penetrate you, I would injure you?” 

Each of the things Weyoun posited rang true, to varying degrees. He had never let his ex-wife penetrate him because even though they had been friends, he would not risk coming to harm for some loveless sex. Damar’s gaze once again fell upon the glass that had been filled with water, then past it. Through the transparent surface with glowed gold in the low light, he spotted two matching charms—a pair of tiny, ivory bells carved in the shape of cute alien creatures Damar could not identify. Weyoun had given them to him some time ago, citing the fact that he no longer needed to study—that is, play—with them because their jingling was not pleasing to his ears. “I think it was a mix of those things,” Damar said, “but most of all I was bothered by the fact that you weren’t yourself.”

“I understand completely,” Weyoun said, with no understanding at all. If only he knew enough to be comforted that Damar could see what he needed in his life. “Now, what would you say might help you feel better and be a mutually-agreeable solution for this issue?” Weyoun asked.

“I want you to do it,” the words flowed like water. Damar drifted closer until the two of them were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Weyoun made a pleased sound and swiveled, bringing his legs over Damar’s lap. “…You know, Damar, I actually find the conflation of dominance and penetration to be quite arbitrary. Not only is it not a constant even within individual cultures, but I also don't see anything inherently dominant about the act itself,” Weyoun said. 

“Cardassians would agree with you… but only with respect to women. Most of us would sneer at anyone claiming women who prefer to be penetrated must be submissive… but within the military, it’s different.” Damar sighed. “Even if a man has done his duty to the State, risen in the ranks, and only takes an interest in alien males, his career would be ruined if he was caught taking a cock in bed. I’ve… I’ve seen it happen. Good people becoming pariahs.” 

“You're practical. I've made it clear that you are important to the Dominion's agenda, and you're my friend. You can't possibly think I'll let anyone find out if I penetrate you, let alone that I'd let you be executed!”

“I know.” Damar chuckled darkly. “But the State rarely executes anyone outright for this offense. They’re sent to labor camps, put through re-education—which I don’t think I have to tell you is just another form of _interrogation_.”

Weyoun clapped his hands together. “Well, there’s another policy for us to amend in the future.” He called for the computer to adjust the temperature to be more appropriate for sex, and then added, “Perhaps I find this connection between the penetrative sex act and dominance particularly strange because I’ve penetrated many officials as a simple act of sexual service to both them and of course to the greater Dominion… and I’ve also participated in sex acts beyond the scope of even your vivid imagination. Vorta sexes may fall within a bimodal distribution like those of your people do, but if this isn’t to the taste of someone we must negotiate with, we always have our sexual organs surgically altered to be better suited to the task.” 

“I’ve heard Obsidian Order operatives have to do that, too. Sounds disorienting.” This came as no surprise to Damar. The Founders considered sex and gender yet more evidence of solids’ chaos. Once, when combing through a database, Damar had discovered a profile with a holophoto of a female Weyoun clone’s portrait. Other than ears angled back and a softer jawline, the clone looked identical to the male iterations, and it had struck Damar how such small differences among Cardassians held so much weight. 

“Really? I think it’s exciting!” 

“You would.” 

Weyoun smirked and lifted his suit jacket over his head, revealing the rest of his undershirt. Despite the busyness of the floral pattern, it was always very attractive to Damar’s eyes. Damar found himself staring at its ruffled collar, catching glimpses of Weyoun’s chest hair and the magenta flush underneath it that matched the stripe across the Vorta’s hairline. “I think I’ve taken charge with you quite often,” Weyoun said, as his undershirt followed his jacket. 

As Damar unlatched his own armor and removed his layers, he tongue-flicked and breathed in deeply, inhaling Weyoun’s scent as the Vorta sweated. “You did have to get me comfortable enough to suck you off.”

“Hm, yes, how lucky I am that I’m a diplomat by nature. You’re very skilled.” Weyoun was already out of his underwear. “I’m also the one who propositioned you before the first night we spent together.” 

“ _Yes_ ,” it trailed off into a deep, resounding hiss. He rushed as he stripped, enjoying the rippling of the warming air over his now-bare ridges. 

Weyoun was close enough to look him up and down, and Damar was close enough to run his fingers over the detailed ears. Weyoun sighed at the caresses. “I think this encounter should be different,” he said. “Could you tell me exactly what you want me to do throughout this one?”

Damar blushed. He hoped Weyoun liked the show. “Interesting idea. Right now, I want you to kiss me, Weyoun.” Damar wanted to impress him and be fully known for once in his life. It was time. 

Weyoun’s tongue was soon wandering to the gap where Damar’s first molar used to be as Damar breathed in the smell of salt and ran the tips of his claws through Weyoun’s poofy hair. Uncharacteristically, Weyoun quickly pulled back as opposed to spending time with the textures of Damar’s mouth. “I can still taste the rippleberry juice!” Weyoun exclaimed. “I am disappointed to discover—”

With a squeeze to Weyoun’s cheeks, Damar cut him off. “No complaints. I want you to make it a compliment.” 

Fury burned in those big, lavender eyes but the spark was gone as soon as it had arrived, replaced by a sugary smile. “I mean to say it was very _courageous_ of you to brave the flavor when I know it’s not one you enjoy.”

“Much better.” Damar lay back as if to bask, pulling Weyoun down with him. “Move against me, Weyoun. The next thing I want is to feel your little chest fur tickling right here.” He gestured to his middle spoon. 

“Vorta aren’t animals, the word is ‘hair,’” Weyoun muttered, but he did as he was told, gently rocking atop him. 

Damar let out a pleased rumble. “I love it when my senses are filled with you,” he murmured back, feeling himself melt into the heat. 

“How romantic.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

Weyoun blinked, his movements pausing like a regnar exposed to the elements, freezing upon being spotted. His half-blind eyes seemed even more unfocused than usual, as if he were staring at a distant mirage. But the only question he asked was, “What else do you desire?” in a wrought voice. 

The truth of the matter was that he only wanted Weyoun to be himself, but it was not the time and place to lead Weyoun to that understanding. That would be its own journey, Damar knew. “Why don’t you get me ready by showing my vent some tender care?”

The tingling in Damar’s central spoon remained even as Weyoun moved to settle between his legs. When Damar let his eyes fall shut, he could almost see each spot Weyoun’s tiny hairs had touched him as a point of light, like sparkling diamonds embedded in a sand dune. He spread his legs as Weyoun pressed kisses to his inner thighs and rubbed the nearby scales. 

“Trace a shape there for me,” Damar said. His toes curled at the feeling of Weyoun’s soft lips. “With your fingers, and then your tongue.”

Weyoun pulled back slightly. “What sort of shape?” 

“A nice one. Whichever you’d like, Weyoun.” 

“But… as I’ve told you, I have no sense of aesthetics. How could I possibly know a ‘nice’ pattern—”

“You heard me!” Damar sat up halfway to scowl at him. “First thing that comes to mind, now go.” 

The dazed look this earned him was a sweeter reward than any promotion. Weyoun ducked back down and tentatively drew his finger in an arc, down into a point, then back up to form an inverted tear or Cardassian spoon, an icon of love. 

Damar moaned and hummed as he felt Weyoun’s practiced tongue slowly follow along the same trail. “... _You’re_ a regular romantic, Weyoun.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Weyoun said, his breath wonderfully humid, “I was thinking of an unfaceted gem from my collection.” 

“Mhm, either way, very artistic. You should be proud.”

Any potential remarks fell away to pleasured gasps when Weyoun opened his mouth wide to suck and lick harder. A swelling inside was all Damar could focus on before he everted and Weyoun blew on his hemipenis, setting every spicule alight. The comparatively cool air of the room was a caress. 

A flash of Weyoun’s teeth in his endearing grin brought Damar back to himself. “What now, Damar? I’m happy to be at your call.” 

Could Damar be any bluer? Weyoun would find out, he supposed. “…Prep me.” 

Weyoun nodded and rose, sliding out of bed and stretching before sauntering over to the replicator. 

“What are you doing?” Damar asked. 

“Replicating the oil I’ll use to prepare you, what else?” A container appeared for him to take. Weyoun cocked his head. “Did you forget this step? You’ve penetrated me before!” 

“Only once.” The differences in their anatomy had been so appealing and overwhelming from the outset, they had spent more time exploring each other’s bodies both by using their hands and mouths and through frottage. “I-I thought it might be different when you did it to me!” 

Weyoun climbed back up gracefully without spilling a drop of oil despite laughing all the while. This time, the creases around his eyes reminded Damar of rays of light. The sight of Weyoun slowly stroking his cock, spreading the oil over himself, was as erotic as any touch. Weyoun straddled him and reached down with his oiled hand to gently hold the base of Damar’s hemipenis as he used the other hand to massage the outside of his lowest spoon. Languidly, Weyoun slid his cock between the heads, clearly savoring the textures, and Damar canted his hips and let out a low groan—before pushing Weyoun back by his chest. “Wait,” Damar said, “I don’t want you to touch me there tonight. The only pleasure I’ll be receiving is from you inside me.” 

Weyoun tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I didn't expect your confidence to return quite so rapidly. How fortunate for us both!” He carefully brushed the furthest edges of Damar’s vent before running his hand across it until he could easily glide inside. 

The sensation was unlike anything Damar had ever experienced before—the oil reduced the friction but he could feel every touch more strongly and it kept Weyoun’s heat inside. He gripped the bed, wishing he could pull Weyoun close again but not wanting to claw him by accident in the throes of passion. As Weyoun continued to fuck him with his fingers, Damar thought he could feel something vibrating at his core—he wondered if he was making a sound he himself could not hear but Weyoun could discern. Before Damar felt himself moving toward climax he said, “Come up here, you can poke at my ridge spots while you fuck me.” 

“Delightful,” Weyoun said, tone calm and patient, but he hurried up Damar’s body, not even taking time to rub the various textures. He walked his fingers down the ridges and Damar felt his neck twitching at the attention when suddenly Weyoun’s cock was pressing into him, then thrusting slowly and touching him more deeply than he had ever been touched before. It did not take much of this before, he was demanding to be fucked harder, and finally he felt Weyoun’s balls slapping against his vent as he enjoyed the constantly fluctuating temperature that came with it. 

* * *

“…Damar? Tell me, how might you be feeling? You’re being very quiet.” Weyoun’s voice sounded like it was from high up above while Damar was submerged and swimming through a body of water. “Are you simply feeling tired?” Weyoun asked. 

“Yes, that’s how I’m feeling,” Damar murmured, as Weyoun’s face and the umber-painted room came back into view. “It felt different than I expected.”

“Different in an enjoyable sense?” 

With immense effort, Damar managed to sit up and support himself against the wall. “It was. And I’d like to do it again.” 

Instead of responding verbally, Weyoun leaned down to give him a peck on the cheek. Though it made Damar’s heart beat fast—something he hoped Weyoun could hear—it was bittersweet. He had to wonder if Weyoun even knew where the impulse to do such a thing originated. Did he have some deep, ancestral memory that could not be erased? But now was not the time to reckon with that thought. “You know, I’m tired and want to bask on you, but I also want to go soak and clean up,” Damar said. “Weyoun, you're going to walk us over to the shower while I hang on to your back.”

Weyoun snorted, an adorable noise. “Excuse me?” 

“What? I’m still in charge here, aren’t I?” Damar grinned, showing off his teeth.

The expression Weyoun was wearing said many things all at once, such as “I love the confidence,” “This must be revenge for when I laughed at you,” and “I’m excited to have finally fucked you,” and Damar felt honored to be privy to Weyoun’s open and honest reaction. Weyoun rolled his eyes but offered him his arm, which Damar took, and they clambered out of bed together. Part of Damar wished he had offered a hand to hold instead, but that was for another day. 

Nudging Weyoun with his nose to encourage him and even putting a little weight on his own tired legs to help out, Damar let Weyoun lead him over to the shower, breathing heavily from exertion the entire time. When they finally arrived, Weyoun gazed quizzically at Damar’s bath products. Damar increased the light in the bathroom, then shut his eyes to let them adjust to the brightness as he started running the water. 

Even through the sound of the shower, he could hear Weyoun as he picked things up to study. “Everything here is simply absorbed into the skin! How lucky you are. Vorta adhere to a strict regimen of hair-washing and moisturizing. Though I suppose you’re already aware considering how enthralled you seem to be every time you sit and watch me styling my hair.” 

“I try to take care of everything all at once,” Damar said. He managed to open his eyes, eager to see Weyoun’s wavy hair as it came down in the water. “You know, I wish I could do more with _my_ hair other than slicking it back. But, you know, the regulations…” 

“I _do_ know regulations, Damar, but earlier in the evening I was penetrating you. Isn’t it rather odd for you to be worrying about hair styles in light of that?” 

“What a thing for you to say, suggesting I break code. You’re a regular dissident.” Damar pulled Weyoun close before he could retort. “You do have a point there, but the sex was private. Then again, I suppose there’s nothing stopping me from wearing my hair differently with you and only you.” 

“I would appreciate it. Something more distinct for me to feel would be exciting!” Weyoun exclaimed. 

Damar hummed, then cupped Weyoun’s face with one hand to hold him while he used his other hand to lightly trace the shape of the droplet over the little wrinkles in his brow. As Weyoun’s eyes widened in question, Damar leaned in and kissed the mole over his lip. 


End file.
